


Under the Moonlight

by TheWalkingDebt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Friendship/Love, Heavy Angst, Love Confessions, Phone Calls & Telephones, Reader-Insert, Sad Dean Winchester, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9828893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingDebt/pseuds/TheWalkingDebt
Summary: Your breath is shaky as you pull out your phone, dialing the last number you recall getting from him, and put it on speaker. Your arm’s not cooperating in lifting to your ear, and right now, all you’d like is a little bit of comfort. Which is probably why you’re being so damn selfish right now in making this call.





	1. Reader POV

Your breath is shaky as you pull out your phone, dialing the last number you recall getting from him, and put it on speaker. Your arm’s not cooperating in lifting to your ear, and right now, all you’d like is a little bit of comfort. Which is probably why you’re being so damn selfish right now in making this call.

 

“Y/N?” Dean. He sounds happy for once. Or, at least, not miserable. Which is always good, if strange. But good.

 

“Hey,” you smile, wincing as you cough loud enough to be heard.

 

“You alright over there?” he sounds concerned. You need to dissuade that, before he gets suspicious. Well, suspicious-er. More suspicious?

 

“I’m fine, just a, uh,” you cough again, much to your own annoyance. “Bit of a cold. Won’t keep me down.”

 

“Better not,” he laughs, and your world lights up a little more. “We were hoping to see you soon.” His voice is near hopeful, and your heart drops like a brick in water at that.

 

“Uh, maybe not as soon as you’d like, Winchester,” you try to tease. “I might be out for a little while… s’no biggie.” You hack up a bit of blood and wipe it away on your crimson shirt, avoiding the sight of it as best you can. 

 

“So, what’s this, just wanted to say hi?” Dean’s the playful one now, and it’s something pure and precious that you just want to cradle to your chest for the rest of time. It’s very rare he feels comfortable enough to mess around anymore, and it reminds you of the days before all this bullcrap of angels and demons.

 

“Hey, I can miss my boys and worry for their sanity while I’m gone, right?” your voice weakens towards the end of the question, and you build it back up with a thick swallow. The pain is fading, though, and you know that’s probably not good.

 

“We can do just fine on our own, thank you very much,” he replies sarcastically, and you hear the clatter of dishes on the other end of the line. “Made dinner by myself and everything.”

 

“He’s a big boy after all, ladies and gents,” you close your eyes for a moment, suddenly tired and warm. Everything’s ending rather pleasantly, it seems. If you can just fade out without Dean realizing what’s up, that’d be just dandy. “Hey, Dean?”

 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” you’ll miss that, you think faintly.

 

“Is everything… good? Y’know, on your end?”

 

“…” he’s silent a moment. “As good as it can get, I guess. Why?”

 

You shake your head, “Just, curious.” It’s getting harder to speak, and think clearly. “If I… fall asleep on you… sorry…” Falling asleep. If only it was just that. Although it almost feels pleasant enough to be a slumber. “Tired.”

 

“S’ok, Grandma,” he teases, a rough laugh babbling like a warm river underneath his words. “I can forgive you this once.”

 

“This once…” you smile to yourself. “S’all I need, Winchester…” everything’s sort of going fuzzy, and you know your time’s coming. At least you ganked all the sons’a’bitches in the room, taking the nest down with you. “Dean?”

 

“Yeah, cherry pie?” he seems to sense you’re… not quite yourself. You’re unsure if this is good or bad. He never uses that nickname unless you’re crying in front of him, or the time you were in the hospital.

 

You’re quiet a moment, “You know… I love you, right?” He knew. You both knew. It just wasn't something worth going after, though. As soon as word got out amongst the demons, it’d be over. One of you would die horribly, leaving the other and Sam behind to mourn, and then do something stupid to bring you back. You would be too involved in each other to deal properly with it.

It was just better not to make something so precious well-known. As soon as one demon heard of it, they all would, and then they’d know exactly how to hurt either of you. You kept your affection to your small touches and a form of code-words between you both. Although kissing him at least once would’ve been nice…

So saying the words aloud meant… well… it wasn’t worth keeping secret anymore. No matter how much you longed to rest in his arms, share the burden of fighting as a more whole unit. Hell, you could even see raising the smug bastard’s rugrats; of course, they’d have his big green eyes and get away with everything because underneath that hunter’s badass exterior was just a big fluffy teddy bear. The moment your daughter would pull those eyes on a boy, Dean would have his shotgun out in a moment, dusting it off like you never stopped hunting to have a 2.5 family in the suburbs with soccer games and packed lunches and fluffy white Christmases… 

 

“’Course I do,” his voice is gruff, concerned, breaking through your daydream that you’d like to partially blame on the blood loss. “What’s the matter, what’s happening, Y/N? Are you okay?”

 

You cough, the wet sound splattering drops of bloods on the floor in front of you, “Just peachy, Winchester.” You smile. “I love you.” It felt good to finally say it, though, to know he knew for sure.

 

“…I love you too, Y/N,” he murmurs, so soft and fragile you almost thought you imagined it. Wryly, you thought to yourself, you could die happy now. His voice is rough and confused as he asks, “Where are you?”

 

“M’not telling,” you sing-song at him, laughing tiredly. “See you when I see you, though, Dean Winchester.” His name, you think in a dreamy haze, is so beautifully earthy. So wonderfully solid on your tongue, sliding between your teeth, perched on your lips…

 

“Y/N!” he’s getting it now, for whatever reason, looking into your wording more than you hoped he would. “Y/N,  _ please _ , tell me you’re okay!”

  
“You know I always am, Dean-o,” you sigh, feeling the last clenching of your heart as it slows, the last trickling of your gutted body pouring from you. “I’ll… catch you on the flip…” your eyes shut, and when they open again, it’s to a profound and almost blinding white.


	2. Dean POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s just cleaning up the kitchen when you call. Shaking the bubbles from his hands, he wipes them on his jeans as he picks up, catching your last known number on the screen. He smiles instinctively, warmed up inside just thinking about you.

He’s just cleaning up the kitchen when you call. Shaking the bubbles from his hands, he wipes them on his jeans as he picks up, catching your last known number on the screen. He smiles instinctively, warmed up inside just thinking about you.

He should know better by now, unscheduled calls are never good, but he can’t help but hope you just miss him.

 

“Y/N?” he makes sure to sound cautious, knowing you really only call when things are serious. But perhaps you’re coming home early and just wanted to let him know.

 

“Hey,” you sound slightly weak, and you cough, loudly. He winces at the rough sound.

 

“You alright over there?” he tries not to demand answers, tries not to become his usual overbearing self. You don’t react well when he virtually sits on you to drag the answers out.

 

“I’m fine, just a, uh,” you cough again, and he wishes he were there with you to help. “Bit of a cold. Won’t keep me down.”  _ Nothing does, _ he thinks fondly.

 

“Better not,” he laughs, picturing you in your usual t-shirt and sweatpants for pajamas, yawning as your pink cheeks turned ruddy from the sickness. He knows your nose and cheeks get adorably red when you’re ill, and your eyes droop a little but never lose their shine. Nyquil makes you gentle as a sleepy kitten, and you paw at your eyes and rub into him for warmth.

…There’s more than one reason why he wants to be there with you right now.

“We were hoping to see you soon.” His voice is scarily close to hopeful, and he wishes he could tamp down on that a bit more. But he really does want to see you so much right now, just hearing your voice makes him… wistful and longing.

 

“Uh, maybe not as soon as you’d like, Winchester,” you reply, and he can’t help but frown a bit as his heart sinks sadly. “I might be out for a little while… s’no biggie.” Your coughing sounds worse, now, and he hopes by ignoring it, he can help you feel better. He ignores the instinctual anxiety building in the pit of his stomach.

 

“So, what’s this, just wanted to say hi?” Dean smiles, even if he doesn’t mind the idea of that in the slightest, but teases you all the same. It’s just easier than anything else, using humor to deflect worries of this world. Worries in his mind. He doesn’t like you out of his sight, where he can keep you safe. This hunt you’re on worried him so much he hadn’t been able to sleep for the first two nights you were gone. He knows you’re more than capable, but he wishes you had allowed him to come along.

But no, you insisted he stay home and hold down the fort.  _ It’s only a few bad guys, and I know someone in the area that owes me a favor. _ So here he is, a regular housewife, waiting for you to get back in one piece. 

 

“Hey, I can miss my boys and worry for their sanity while I’m gone, right?” you seem to falter a bit towards the end, but he puts that on your cold. He really hopes you only sound worse than you are, because now he’s attuned to you again and he’s worried you might be masking something worse than a simple cold.

 

“We can do just fine on our own, thank you very much,” he replies sarcastically, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he returns to absently cleaning plates and utensils in the sink.  “Made dinner by myself and everything.”

 

“He’s a big boy after all, ladies and gents,” he resents your joke. Well, he would if he wasn’t busy trying not to laugh aloud at it. You two get along for a reason, after all. “Hey, Dean?”

 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he knows you like the endearments, even when you whine about it. You light up a little more when he’s sweet on you, and he likes making your day just that little bit better. It’s comforting he can do something about it.

 

“Is everything… good? Y’know, on your end?” 

He pauses at that, confused as to why you’re asking, hands just on the towel to dry them off once more. The dishes are done and this conversation is taking an odd and abrupt turn. That… doesn’t bode well.

 

“As good as it can get, I guess,” he nods, thinking about it honestly. The trials are over, Sam/Ezekiel’s recuperating, Kevin’s not killing himself over the tablets, Cas checks in every day or so with them… things are balanced of a sort now, at least. If only you would come home more. “Why?”

 

“Just, curious,” but you don’t sound right. He knew something was up, and he listens closer to your words and your tone. “If I… fall asleep on you… sorry…” You do sound… tired. He can easily pass it off… but does he want to?

 

“S’ok, Grandma,” he does. He wants you to be okay. So he makes fun and hopes for the best. His hands grip the sink edge tightly. “I can forgive you this once.”

 

“This once… S’all I need, Winchester…” you sound too honest for jokes, and it’s scaring him. You sound so… distant. Like you’ll never come home to him again, and that  _ terrifies  _ him. “Dean?”

 

“Yeah, cherry pie?” he wants you home  _ now _ . He wants you in his arms, on the couch, at the table, just so long as you’re  _ here  _ and talking face to face with him. He’s so close to demanding that you return home  _ right the hell now _ that his knuckles are white on the phone as he sinks into an armchair in the bunker’s radio room.

Something’s wrong, something’s definitely wrong, and he wants you to know he’s concerned and serious now. So he uses the barely used (should be used more) nickname. He can still imagine the pink glow to your face when he blurted it out at the hospital, a three day scruff only making him look crazier.

 

At first you say nothing, then, “You know… I love you, right?”

He freezes up. At first, a stroke of elation bursts through him, the fact that you’re confirming it, that for once he knows exactly and for sure that you have the same feelings… but then the mood drops immediately.

There’s been good reason for avoiding that topic since you two made a mutual if silent agreement never to talk about it or do much about it. He remembers your hand glossing over his, your fingers tightening as you glanced up, eyelids half-mast and tongue peeking out to wet your bottom lip. He so very nearly fell into you right then, wanting to feel your mouth against his own, but he came so close.

You pressed your forehead against his, but your lips were distanced, and you hung in the contact. He was happy just for the closeness, and he longs now for the feel of you in his arms as you watch yet another crappy black-and-white nostalgia flick. You’re his warmth, his light, his  _ everything _ . But if you two ever did anything about it, well…

It would have been a wildfire that could never be extinguished.

Until some demon or other slaughtered one of you.

He knows he’s weak - had done it once, would do it again. You… you wouldn’t want that. Sam wouldn’t want it. No one would want it. He didn’t think  _ he  _ could deal with that again. Dean would rather die than drag you back to earth only to deal with his slowly rotting corpse. You would be… so disappointed.

But now you’re voicing everything he wants, everything he  _ needs _ , over the phone. This… this is not right. You should be in his arms when saying this, dancing in slow to that soft acoustic crap you have on your phone. You should be in his bed, bone-tired from a long day as you whisper these words across the pillow. He should be able to easily capture your lips with his own, feel you shift and move against him, hear those words whine into his ear as he holds you to him.

_ Something is wrong. _ And his guts twist with the inevitably of something horrible. Something is drastically and torturously  _ wrong _ . Because you wouldn’t say these things unless…

 

“’Course I do,” his voice is gruff, overcome with emotions that taunt him daily and now rip him apart at the seams. You  _ aren’t  _ okay, you wouldn’t be saying these things if you weren’t.... 

“What’s the matter, what’s happening, Y/N? Are you okay?”  _ You aren’t, _ his mind chants. You aren’t, you aren’t, you aren’t, and he’s not there to help you, he’s not there to save you, he’s not  _ there! _

 

You cough, a wet sound, and he all of a sudden recognizes it. No, no not her too…! “Just peachy, Winchester.”  _ You can’t be… not you, please, I lo… _ “I love you.”

 

“…I love you too, Y/N,” he whispers back, heart wrenching painfully as he lurches up from his chair, clinging to a wall for support. You’re hurt, you’re…  _ no you can’t be but _ … you’re hurt. He needs to get to you  _ now _ . “Where are you?” He knows the city, knows the hunt, but he doesn't know  _where_. Are you calling from a hospital bed? From the floor of a torture dungeon? Is this all a trap? Who cares. He's already tracking your phone's GPS on his own, your voice spilling out over speaker.

 

“M’not telling,” your voice is in sing-song before laughing tiredly. “See you when I see you, though, Dean Winchester.” You’re not giving a time, though, not a date, this isn’t a call for help.

This is a final confession.

 

“Y/N!” his stomach hurts, his heart clenches hard, his skin is crawling with a vengeance. You need to… you need to tell him he’s wrong. You need to tell him he’s just  _ imagining  _ things, that you’re coming home, that you’re not leaving him, no, not like this. “Y/N, please, tell me you’re okay!”

 

“You know I always am, Dean-o,” you sigh, suddenly fading away from him. No, you’re just… you’re falling asleep. Like you said. You’ve… you’ve got to be…  _ please, Y/N, don’t leave me! _ “I’ll… catch you on the flip…”

Your voice slides away from him, as does the world, as everything goes quiet.

 

“Y/N!” he roars down the line, eyes suddenly wet as you don’t reply, you’ll never reply, you’re… you’re…

He’s grabbing his jacket in the next second, suddenly in Baby the next, then down the highway another moment. Everything jumps together in short syncopated bursts, and he just… he can’t… he wouldn’t be surprised if he crashed the car in all the miles it took to get to you.  _Too many_.

It takes hours but seconds maybe even days, still it felt like minutes since he had you laughing on the phone, until he’s in front of the building you…  _ oh god _ … he runs in, gun out, screaming your name.

His footsteps, racing and hard, nearly take him past you, but he screeches to a halt, eyes locked on your form. Your skin glistens in the moonlight filtering down through the holes in the roof. You’re surrounded by six dead men, six dead men he couldn’t give a modicum of care for. Your name comes once more, shaky and terrified, from his lips before he’s collapsing by your side.

No longer can he pretend or hold himself together. As soon as his hand touches cold flesh, he becomes little more than half alive. His pain and shock is too great to cry, yet, and he simply collects your body to himself, chest heaving in confused, heavy gasps. His eyes are wet, but everything’s spinning so rapidly and he can’t focus and he can’t breathe despite his lungs burning so hard inside of him and he can’t… he  _ can’t… _

He’s just waiting for you to breathe. Waiting for you to wake up and tell him it’s all a joke.

 

_ Please, Y/N, please… come back to me. Just this once. Just one more miracle, please.... _

Dean Winchester’s world is quiet, but he is not.


End file.
